


to be back again

by Neffectual



Series: From An In-Ring Perspective [10]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Babe - Freeform, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black, Pining, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6415852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman keeps calling Dean 'babe', and neither of them really knows how to feel about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to be back again

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the two times Roman calls Dean 'babe' in their Ride Along episode, and helped into being by jackthwagger on tumblr.
> 
> Title from Sufjan Stevens 'To Be Alone With You'.

The first time he says it, Dean stares at him for like, minutes, until Roman finally says:

“What? I said, do you want my fries, babe?”

 “Yeah, it's the last word I'm having problems with here.” Dean says, baldy, wondering if Roman even knows he’s said it, wondering if he knows that the word makes the blood pump loudly in Dean’s ears, if Roman knows that Dean suddenly can’t catch his breath.

 “Oh, right, just a habit – but do you want the rest of these fries?” Roman tries to play it off, easy, soft, calm, the way his voice always hums into being all the little things that make Dean want to sink to his knees and rest his head on Roman’s thigh.

Dean takes them, but he stares weirdly at Roman the entire time he eats them, wondering if Roman knows what’s going through his head.

Roman doesn’t stop, though, just keeps dropping it into conversation like it’s nothing, like it isn’t the only thing Dean can hear now.

“Turn left up ahead, babe.”

“You can take the first shower, babe.”

“We’re gonna be late for SmackDown taping, babe.”

Sometimes Dean can’t help himself, questions it, can’t leave it alone like it’s a scab he desperately wants to pick at.

“You’re doing that babe thing again,” he says, softly, and Roman looks away, lips pursed like he’s bitten into something bitter, and Dean resolves not to bring it up again. Some days it just feels like too much, too big, like the weight of Roman’s ‘babe’, casually thrown out like that can’t fit under his skin without him having to make room for it, and he just can’t.

But when he’s tired, and they’re at the hotel, curled up together on one double again, because fuck miscommunicated hotel bookings, seriously - it feels different, doesn’t feel like Roman’s asking for something, but is instead giving him something powerful, something strong.

“Want me to get the light, babe?” Roman asks, and Dean’s too tired to unpack it all, too exhausted, to worn down with the stretch of the road and the distance between arenas.

“Yeah,” he says, and nothing else, feels the bed lift as Roman gets off it to hit the switch, hears the rustle of clothes as Roman strips down to the boxer briefs he sleeps in, then feels the bed dip again as Roman settles back beside him.

 

The thing is, Roman’s got so used to looking after Dean, got so used to holding him together after Seth left them, more to the point left Dean, because he knows his brothers were more than that to each other then. A few months after Seth left, Roman finds ‘babe’ tripping out of his mouth, the same as the soft sweet nothings he murmured when Dean was snarling and sobbing into his pillow in the night, roundly cursing Seth’s name and pleading for him to come back to him.

Dean might no longer be so fragile, but Roman’s seen what he looks like now, when he’s lost and scared; and he can't put a name to what they are, what connection there is between two guys who never talk about anything important but spend all their time together. So when he wants to say ‘I’m sorry he left you’, he says ‘babe’. When he wants to say ‘I wish I could be what you need me to be’, he says ‘babe’. When he wants to say ‘I’m always here for you’, he says ‘babe’. It’s become a silent ‘I love you’ – because he doesn’t dare say that.

Roman wishes he didn’t say it, wishes he could call it back, at first; it’s not a conscious choice for him to say it, it just slips out. He knows Dean called Seth ‘baby’, could never touch that word, could never lay claim to that. Babe is casual enough that it can be played off, ignored.

Dean does ignore it fairly often, but Roman keeps saying it, voice increasingly putting emphasis on the word because he needs so badly to be acknowledged, needs to know what this is, what they're doing, what they are. He doesn't dare ask, because what if his answer is a shrug, or Dean's laughter, or worse, what if Dean leaves him, too? What if their whole tenuous agreement, the friendship, the brotherhood, the way Dean crawls into his bed in the middle of the night, what if that's all gone just because he asked?

So he doesn't, doesn't wonder, doesn't let himself do more than press a kiss to Dean's head, or shoulder, a fistbump, a pat to the arm, keeps calling him 'babe' until the word loses all meaning, until the word just means 'Dean' to him, until love and Dean are so tangled together that there's no space to breathe between them.

 

It all breaks down one night, halfway through a long drive and both of them tense with it, air thick with tension between them. Roman hasn’t called him babe for two days, and Dean is missing the feeling of it like he misses light tubes and barbed wire, like he misses Seth’s nails down his spine and his teeth in Seth’s throat.

“What’s it all about?” he asks, apropos of nothing, and Roman gives him a curious look before turning back to the road. “The babe thing, I mean.”

That gets Roman’s attention, making the car jerk, and Dean bites his tongue and wishes he’d never said anything. Roman usually drives smooth, all curves and slow stops, and the jolt of the car is so unlike him that it makes Dean feel sick.

“I can stop,” Roman says, which isn’t an answer. There’s a long silence as both of them try to work out what the other wants. “I… I can stop.”

Dean doesn’t know how to say no, how to say that ‘babe’ feels like arms around him, feels like the nights when missing Seth has been too much, feels like home and heart and everything sacred and right in the world. Instead, he puts a hand on Roman’s knee, and squeezes gently, just once, before bringing it back to clasp with his other in his lap.

When they get to the hotel, the girl behind the desk asks:

“One room, or two?” Her pleasant voice falters when she catches the look Roman throws at Dean, and he flinches back from it, shaking his head.

“One.” Roman says, anyway, and takes the keycard from her before adding, with forced casualness, “Thanks, babe.”

Dean doesn’t know how he gets from the lobby to their room, doesn’t know how many floors up they are or what their room number is, but he has Roman pushed down on the bed the second the door is closed, hands on his shoulders and a snarl on his mouth.

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Dean pants, voice rough with emotion he can no longer hold back. “Don’t you fucking dare call anyone else that.”

 

Dean on his knees should be a religious experience, Roman thinks, breath heavy, mouth wet and hot and sloppy, spit dripping down to Roman’s balls and yet it’s never felt better than this. He cards his fingers through Dean’s hair softly, tugging a little, and then harder when Dean whimpers into it, and the vibrations and tightness of his throat feel great around Roman’s dick.

“Babe, fuck, so good babe, so good…,” he lets himself trail off as he pushes a little deeper, hears Dean cough, but he doesn’t move, just lets Roman stay deep in his mouth, breathing through his nose like a wounded stallion, like it takes all of his pride not to pull back. “I didn’t know, babe, fuck, babe.”

Dean hums around him, and Roman wants to know where he learnt all of these tricks, how he got so good at this, why he’s perfect on his knees between Roman’s spread legs like he was made to be there. When he pulls Dean back by the hair, his mouth is glistening, and the tongue he sweeps out over his lips makes Roman groan deeply.

“Want you to fuck me,” Dean says, plainly, calmly, like this is something they’ve done a thousand times, and pulls a tube of lube out of the bag dropped by his feet. “Been thinking about it, want you to fuck me, want you to get rough with me.”

It’s all the invitation Roman needs, watching Dean strips as he pulls off his own clothes, messy and un-coordinated, and that’s half the charm of watching Dean do anything. Roman thinks this is the only way to fall in love with Dean; not at all, then slowly, and then all at once, like slipping down a muddy hillside in the rain. Being with Dean is like being buried alive, like walking over hot coals, like everything he’s ever wanted and been so afraid to ask for.

By the time he’s inside Dean, bending the other man over the edge of the bed and watching his legs shake, he’s already half gone, already can’t hold himself together, sweating and cursing as he drags his nails down Dean’s back.

“Thought about this, babe, thought about how you’d be sweet for me, how you’d like it, so sweet, babe….” The torrent of filthy affirmation and adoration tumbles from his mouth, he’s barely aware of what he’s saying, but whatever it is, it works, Dean moaning beneath him, writhing, loving every second. When they both come, it’s a rush and a roar and the ringing in Roman’s ears doesn’t stop.

 

Getting in the car, Dean winces as he sits, and Roman’s mouth quirks in a little grin that makes Dean smack him on the arm.

“Fucker,” he grumbles, but there’s a movement in his own lips that betrays he’s trying his hardest not to laugh. “All smug over there, I see you.”

Roman’s smile breaks easily, like a wave meeting the shore, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, and it’s everything Dean’s ever wanted, tugging at his heartstrings and making his stomach do moonsaults.

“Only for you, babe,” Roman says, with a flash of that smile so bright it’s almost blinding, “Only for you.”


End file.
